Ties That Blind. Zachary Klein

joking,” Boots shook her head. “You’ve been Lou’s world since Martha died and the man needs more. It’s not Lauren’s New Age talk or her ex-husband that’s bothering you, your feelings are hurt.”

      They were, though I wasn’t sure why. “Maybe you’re right,” I said, twisting toward the table, finally giving in to the weed. My nerves thanked me for the first-toke rush. “I guess I have to let it play out,” I said after slowly releasing my breath.

      Boots rolled over, reached down next to her side of the king-size, and came up with a sweating gin and tonic. “Live and let live,” she toasted. “It’s always been your motto.”

      “Right,” I replied before taking another large lung-full.

      Boots took a long swallow. “Doesn’t it make you happy for him, even a little?”

      I treated the joint like we were down to strikes instead of innings and chopped off its orange head with my fingernails. After a long pause I exhaled, satisfied to see very little smoke. “It should, but I smell trouble. And guilty for feeling this way.” I suddenly felt embarrassed and vulnerable.

      My admission satisfied her because in one of Boots’s patented one-eighties, she leaned her head back exposing her long neck and smooth breast. “Do I smell like trouble?”

      Her invitation didn’t make everything else disappear, but did push it farther back. I aided and abetted by relighting the bone and taking another two quick tokes. “You are trouble,” I answered, shrugging when I realized I meant it. Only right then I didn’t know what kind; and right then didn’t want to know.

      If Boots noticed my shrug she ignored it. Instead, she wedged her head under my outstretched arm and reached down to my fly. “Enough talk, it’s time to get that thing back out into the open.”

      I shook everything out of my mind as Boots turned and followed her hand with her head. She pulled on my cock and placed her lips around the top, her mouth overcoming any lingering thoughts. I grew hard, pushing past the cotton, startled by my degree of desire. I held myself in check but when Boots’s teeth scraped lightly across my crown, I reached down, lifting and shifting her body. When her legs faced my head I opened her knees, and lightly rubbed my palm over her cloth covered mound.

      I stroked skimpy material while she pulled off my shorts. We stayed that way for a time, gently touching each other, letting our heat build, catching a hint of something special. Boots was running her tongue up the underside of my hard when I tugged lightly on her panties. She shuddered, lifted her head, and looked back in my direction. “Put your tongue inside.”

      I grasped her sides, shifted her onto her knees, and slipped off her damp underwear. Her buttocks curved in front of me and I explored her feet, legs, and ass with my hands. Boots turned her head and leaned forward on her elbows, her mouth open, tongue touching her lips. I licked my hand to add to her moisture and reached between her thighs.

      Moments passed before I lifted her up while I slid onto my back, lowering her knees to each side of my head.

      I stayed mouth to moist for a long time, gently exploring both lips with my teeth, occasionally slipping my tongue inside. Each time, Boots would flatten her entire body, blacking out everything but her taste and smell and her excited mouth between my legs.

      Boots moaned and slid her body lower, away from my lips. She nipped and sucked and scraped her teeth against me while I cupped her ass with both hands. She motioned for me to raise my knees and, when I did, she wriggled lower.

      As I leaned forward and licked between her cheeks, Boots squirmed toward my ass. She was shuddering, both holes open, and I could feel her darting tongue replicate my motion. This was something new between us, and I could feel our passion overwhelm everything else.

      In unspoken synchronization, we twisted to provide easier access. The room shattered and disappeared as we joined through the forbidden—a surrender to each other. All that existed was another abandoned barrier and the discovery of the unexplored.

      Maybe it was the evening’s earlier anxious vulnerability, or perhaps the vulnerability of newly crossed boundaries, but I clung to her, losing myself in our Mobius strip across the king size bed. Clinging until the fire in my mouth finally demanded thirst quenching lips. I broke our kinetic weave and reversed direction. Eyes open, our mouths melded as I entered her, both of us moving in hungry harmony until our bodies exploded.

      Later that night, much later, long after Boots fell asleep, I retreated to the living room. Her spectacular living room. I quietly turned the lone low easy chair toward the glass wall and sat staring down at the Charles.

      The first time Boots invited me up, the view took my breath away. Despite believing, wrongly, that Hal had paid for it. The slow, handsome river, tree-lined park, bustling Storrow Drive, the sparkling nighttime city lights. The illusion of presiding over undulating motion or eerie quiet still delivered a jolt. From my perch in Boots’s living room, I could watch a soundless urban mambo as distinct as New England’s four seasons. This wasn’t the Big Apple where the core of the city might slow but never sleep. Boston kept hours.

      And now Boston was asleep. Now there was nothing twinkling except my nerves and the city’s iconic CITGO sign, so I smoked more dope, sipped a small ‘Turkey neat, and unsuccessfully tried to sync my insides with the calm before my eyes.

      Boots’s talk of television hadn’t washed away. Hell, I hadn’t felt like running from her apartment since dirt. At the same time, our lovemaking had blown a hole in the plastic bag I’d pictured covering my head. Now I had no idea what I felt.

      “You look bummed.”

      Boots’s voice surprised me and I turned to see her in the doorway wearing a gray silk robe. Her hair, free of the top-knot, covered one of her sleepy eyes but there was no mistaking the worry. She looked frightened and frail. I had no desire to talk about my fears, hopefully enough heart to assuage hers.

      Boots walked behind my chair and stood looking over my head, her hands on my shoulders. “It’s very quiet out there, isn’t it?” she asked. “Even The Big Dig.”

      I kept my eyes on all that quiet.

      “When I woke up I got scared you went home.”

      “Without my pants?”

      “I wasn’t looking for your pants, I was reaching for you.”

      “Well, you found me. My running days are over.” The second I said it my skin felt like tightly stretched tarp. “Especially when all I’m wearing is underwear,” I forced.

      Boots sat down on the floor and leaned her head on my thigh. She started to speak, changed her mind, and wrapped an arm around my leg. I couldn’t tap my toe, much less run. I leaned over the low coffee table and lit two cigarettes. We sat silently smoking, the only noise in the sparse, Japanese accented room was the rustle when I’d pass the ashtray or run my free hand through her disheveled hair.

      Maybe it was the time, the stillness, or the warmth of Boots’s tight fingers on my calf, but my nerves slowly quieted. I wanted to wipe the worry from her face, lessen the fear from her grip. “The problem with Lou is more than hurt feelings, Boots. If I’m wrong about Lauren it changes things between him and me. If I’m right, then I’m gonna watch him take a beating.”

      A little of the tightness left her hand and Boots sighed as if making up her mind to say more about us. But I relaxed when she followed my lead.

      “It doesn’t have to change anything between the two of you.”

      “How am I supposed to act if he’s serious about her?”

      “The way you always act. Like family.”

      “I don’t want more family.”

      “Does that include me?”

      “You’re different.” I groped for words. “We’re different.”

      “Maybe, maybe not, eh?”

      I